


Even Educated Fleas Do It

by Todesengel



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Puberty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 13:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20292049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: In which Adam reaches puberty and goes to the wrong people for advice. (Or: A discussion of love, obliquely)





	Even Educated Fleas Do It

**Monday, five years after the world failed to end**

It was a perfect spring morning. 

That, in and of itself, should have been warning enough. There had been many spring mornings since the not-war, and while several of them had been rather nice mornings on the whole, none of them could have been called "perfect". And yet here it was, a perfect, Eden-ish morning in the middle of London, and all Aziraphale could think when he opened the door to his shop was, _Well that's a nice break from all this rain._ (In all fairness, Aziraphale was not in the most observant of moods. He was still recovering from a _very_ upsetting customer who'd insisted on actually purchasing one of his books.)

As such, it was rather a shock to find a teenaged Antichrist – and his small terrier-shaped dog – slouching in his doorway.

"Oh," Aziraphale said. "Ah. Good morning, uh--"

"Adam," Adam said. "And that's Dog."

"Yes." Aziraphale looked down his nose at the dog, who was now having a widdle on his front steps. The stone was beginning to smoke. "I remember."

"Did you like the books?" Adam asked as he pushed his way into the shop. "I forgot to ask you when I put them back."

"_Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea_ was rather, er, lurid. Um. About your dog—"

"Oh he's fine," Adam said, baldly ignoring the way Dog was looking about the book shop with the keen interest of a colonial explorer looking to claim every inch of this new land, whether it actually belonged to him or not. 

"Yes, but I have a very strict no pets policy you see, and—"

"Dog's not a pet. He's just Dog." Adam picked up a slightly foxed second edition of _The Gospel of Sufferings_ and wrinkled his nose. "This looks dull. Do you have any magazines?"

"_Magazines_?!" Aziraphale said in shocked affront. He drew himself up a little beyond his full height and leveled his best angelic glare upon Adam; it worked about as well as it did on any other sixteen-year-old boy, which was to say not at all. "Young Adam—"

"It's Adam Young, actually," Adam said. He threw himself down upon one of the chairs and sighed with all the world-weary despair of a teenager. "I need your help. I would've gone to the other one, but I don't know where he lives. And anyway, you're an angel. You have to help me."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said, deflating back down to his normal height. "I'm afraid I gave the sword back. It didn't seem right to keep it. Hadn't had it for over six thousand years, after all. Is it going to be as bad as the last time, do you think? Only, I just got the shop back to rights. It takes ages to get the strange smell right, you know."

Adam stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"The war. Or, rather, _the_ war. Heaven and Hell? The Great Plan? I'd assumed we'd have at least another millennium while they sorted it all out, but that's bureaucracy for you, always works fastest when you least want it to." Aziraphale paused and frowned. "Isn't that why you're here?"

"No," Adam said, slouching even further into the chair. "It's worse than some stupid war." He sighed and scuffed the toe of his ratty trainer against the shop's shabby carpet. "It's _girls_."

"Ah," Aziraphale said into the bookish silence that followed this pronouncement. "Let me get my coat."

*

"Girls," Crowley said, once he'd managed to stop laughing enough to be able to speak. "And you went to _him_?"

"I know quite a lot about women, thank you very much," Aziraphale said primly. "I've had scores of teas with a multitude of quite exceptional young ladies." 

"Right," Crowley said. He looked over the tops of his sunglasses at Aziraphale and winked. "But you weren't trying to fuck them, were you angel?"

"Language, Crowley. There's a child present."

"Please, I'm sure he's said much worse than that. Haven't you, boy? I mean, you do have the internet, don't you? I wouldn't be surprised if you've said things that would make _me_ blush." Crowley lounged back against the park bench and gazed contemplatively at Adam. "So. What do you need advice on? PornHub gotten a bit too tame for your tastes? Looking for something a bit more exotic for your wanking? What're you into, midgets? Clowns? Midget clowns?" 

"Why are midget clowns always your first suggestion?" Aziraphale said while Adam spluttered and stared at the ducks that had come to investigate their bench; they stared back, then waddled away once it became clear that no bread was forthcoming. Dog eyed the ducks speculatively, but even a former hellhound knew better than to go chasing after the St. James's Park ducks. "Anyway, I believe the correct term is 'little person'."

"Knew a lovely midget in the 13th century. Called herself Flabello Dulci Adamus. Wonderful tumbler. And surprisingly limber, for a human," Crowley said. "She did things with her tongue that even _I_ didn't know about. Drew an absolutely filthy diagram for me once." He patted down his jacket and shook his head. "Must've left it in a different century."

"I don't…I don't need _porn_," Adam said in a harsh whisper. "I know about _porn_. I need help with _girls_. Or, well, _a_ girl."

"Oh, seduction is it?" Crowley grinned. "I do enjoy a good seduction. The key is to say whatever you think she wants to hear." He paused, then added, "And expensive gifts. Diamonds are always a favorite."

"What, _anything_?" Adam said. "Even if it's a lie?"

"Don't tell me you have a problem with lying," Crowley said.

"But what if she finds out?" Adam sighed and slouched further down the bench. "And anyway, I can't afford expensive gifts."

"Ideally, you've already moved on to the next bird before she finds out," Crowley said. "But in case you haven't, I recommend ducking."

"But what if I don't _want_ to move on to someone else?" Adam said. "What if I _like_ her?"

"Oh, you want a _relationship_." Crowley sat up straighter and held his hands up. "Sorry mate. Not my area of expertise. I'm more of the 'tempt them to break their holy vows' kind of a guy. Love is more of that side's domain."

"Really?" Adam said as he gave Aziraphale a skeptical once over. 

"I suppose it is, technically," Aziraphale said, shifting a bit under Adam's scrutiny. "Although in my experience you humans tend to sort that sort of thing out on your own, so I've never really bothered with it. We're mostly in charge of the love of the Divine and all that." He brightened a little and sat up straighter. "Actually, that's a thought. Have you ever considered celibacy? It makes things a lot easier, you know, not having to worry about sex. And of course you get so much reading done as a celibate."

"Don't listen to him," Crowley said. "He just thinks it's easier because he's lacking all the important bits. Celibacy is the pits – trust me, I've tried it. Never give up sex, lad."

Adam glanced down at his crotch, then looked up at Aziraphale in horror. "Really? You don't have a penis?"

"Yes, of course I have a—you know," Aziraphale said crossly. 

"Only because you got funny looks at the public baths. Thank G—thank Someone for the Romans, eh?" Crowley said. He leaned closer to Adam and said, conspiratorially, "Never listen to an angel about sex. Their idea of a good time is a bit of discreet hand holding and a good night kiss. _Without_ tongue."

"Whereas demons believe if there isn't a risk of being arrested for public indecency and who knows what else, you're not doing it right," Aziraphale said dryly. "Not everyone thinks a blowjob in the loos is the appropriate end to High Tea, Crowley."

"So those are my two options?" Adam said. "Celibacy or seduction?" 

"Of course not," Aziraphale said. "As I said, humans tend to muddle through this sort of thing on their own without any sort of divine guidance, and you are a human. Mostly." He folded his hands primly in his lap and eyed Adam. "Have you tried talking to this girl? Telling her how you feel?"

"No," Adam said crossly. "That's a stupid idea."

"I suppose," Crowley said slowly, "you could try wooing her."

"Wooing?" Adam asked.

"Oh you know," Crowley said with a wave of his hand. "Wooing. Flowers. Chocolates. Taking an interest in her interests. Listening to the bands she likes. Doing her small favors. Obsessively stalking—no, wait, scratch that last one."

"Going to Scotland," Aziraphale said, with a small smile.

"Right. Going to Scotland. Or Paris. For crepes."

"Paris I get," Adam said. "But why Scotland?"

"Well, it proves you love her, doesn't it?" Crowley said.

"So if I buy a train ticket to Scotland, then she's going to…like me?" Adam said.

"What? No. Of course not. _She_ has to go to Scotland, see, and _you_ have to offer to go in her place," Crowley said. 

"Why would she have to go to Scotland?"

"Oh I don't know. Why does anybody go to Scotland?" Crowley pushed his sunglasses up his nose and stared out at the duck pond. "Anyway, it's not about Scotland specifically. It's about wooing, you see."

"That sounds too complicated," Adam said with a sigh. "Why can't I just _know_ what she wants."

"That's love for you," Aziraphale said. "It's a complicated business."

*

"So he's growing up," Aziraphale said, once he was sure the train carrying Adam was safely away. "Lord help us."

"Oh he's fine," Crowley said. "Perfectly normal – well, perfectly human, at any rate. And if the only thing we have to worry about is his love life…well, there's worse things to worry about. Brimstone comes to mind. And the bloody kraken."

"Hmm," Aziraphale said absentmindedly as they strolled out of the Marylebone station. There were dark clouds massing on the horizon. The perfect day was heading back to Oxfordshire where it belonged, and the normal London weather was impatient to reassert itself. 

They were nearly to Regent's Park before Crowley said, "I never did thank you for the single malt you brought back from Edinburgh, did I? Back in, oh, whenever it was."

"Tosh. It was my pleasure. Even though I know you cheated on that coin toss."

"Of course I did." Crowley took a hand out of his pocket and checked the obnoxious gold Apple watch he'd taken to wearing. "Can I tempt you to a bit of lunch, Aziraphale?"

"I—" Aziraphale stopped and turned until he faced Crowley head on. For a fleeting moment he wished it was still acceptable to carry a cane and a top hat, if only so he could have something to do with his hands. "Is it really that important? Sex, I mean."

"Well, the humans like it," Crowley said, unphased by the sudden turn in conversation. "And it's handy for the sinning. Lustful thoughts are easy. Feels a bit like cheating, sometimes, particularly with the teenagers. Show a teenage boy a bit of galvanized pipe and he's got lustful thoughts for days."

"Seems all so unnecessary. Particularly when it comes to love."

"Lots of things are unnecessary. Your books, for example."

"I say."

Crowley smirked and held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry. Your books are, of course, vital to existence."

"You can have love without all that messy lust business, you know," Aziraphale said, with a meaningful look.

Crowley sighed. "Yes, I know angel."

"I just wanted to be sure," Aziraphale said as he took the proffered arm and they strolled together into the imperfect afternoon.


End file.
